


The Guide to Contact

by InnocencePoisoned



Series: Nessian- Teddy Bear Files [5]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Basically Nesta hates being touched, But features a sad Rhys, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Haphephobia, In a good way I promise, Kisses, Light Angst, Written Pre-ACoWaR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 23:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10673001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnocencePoisoned/pseuds/InnocencePoisoned
Summary: Nesta doesn't like not knowing something, and asks Cassian to help her- thinking that kissing might help her get over her fear of contact.Or alternatively;“The great Nesta Archeron, the one who spoke down to the mortal queens, has asked me to teach her how to kiss. Of-fucking-course I’ll help you.”





	The Guide to Contact

Cassian had never been one to indulge much. Yes he savoured but would soon move on. But with this girl standing before him, all unneeded nerves and red lips- Cassian decided that perhaps he deserved a little indulgence after the life he has lived.

“Cass, it's bad enough as it is without you smiling like that.” Nesta said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and looking pretty much anywhere that wasn't his eyes.

His grin only became bigger. “I promise I'll try not to enjoy myself too much.”

She scoffed, but he could see through her attempt at making the topic lighter. “So are you going to help me or not?” it came out with a bit of bite, but it didn’t dim his smile.

“The great Nesta Archeron, the one who spoke _down_ to the mortal queens, has asked me to teach her how to kiss. Of-fucking-course I’ll help you.”

 

~o0o~

 

Nesta didn’t want to ask Cassian for help- she didn’t want to ask anyone at all- but if there’s one thing Nesta hated it was making a fool of herself. And Cassian, he had already seen her in a multitude of different states. He had seen her wake herself up near to tears because of a nightmare. He had seen her ready to rip someone’s head off. He had seen her laugh. Not once had he ever used those to mock her, and she supposed that he was the only one that could help her without comments on it.

And it didn’t hurt her ego that he was almost jumping with the chance to kiss her even before she asked him.

So she planned a session (in typical Nesta behaviour). After training, when everyone else has gone to do whatever it was they needed to do and the house was basically empty. Nesta waited up in their room- previously Cassian’s- fidgeting with a corner of the blanket until his heavy footfalls outside the door startled her. She put on her face of unconcerned royalty, as if there was nothing as important enough to disturb her off her throne.

He entered without knocking- but she didn’t expect him to- and grinned broadly when he saw her sitting on the bed. “I was beginning to question if you were going to chicken out.”

Damn him, he knew just where to poke to get the right reaction from her. “I _never_ chicken out, Cassian.” Then she was tilting her head in challenge that just _dared_ him to test her.

“I didn’t say you did, sweetheart.” He stepped towards the bed and Nesta’s sharply trained nerves betrayed her when her hands started to shake. “You can calm down, Nesta. There’s no reason to be nervous. You mastered kicking my ass in no time, I’m sure you’ll get this.”

His words actually managed to sooth her slightly, at least somewhat quelling the tremble in her limbs. She took a deep breath, and exhaled loudly. She lifted her head to him, shifting to allow him space on the bed next to her. “So are we going to do this or not?”

He grinned again, barely a change from his usual smirk but enough that she saw it. He took the seat she offered him, sitting closer than she would normally allow but she knew that it was necessary. He turned to face her, waiting expectantly until she did the same, and took a hand in his. He looked deeply into her eyes, his gaze almost mimicking hers by daring her to look away. And when she didn’t, when he judged her almost calm enough, he gave her hand a little squeeze.

“I promise it isn’t as bad as you make it put to be.” He gave her a small smile. “All you’re doing is moving your lips against their’s.”

He leaned forwards then, a small movement but enough to make her jerk back and wrench her hand from his. She looked away from him, tempted to just leave the room altogether and never speak of this ever again, but her earlier words mocked her: I _never_ chicken out.

He frowned, watching her internal war. “Nesta,” then the gears within his mind snapped into place. “Is there something else bothering you?”

She let loose a tense, hollow chuckle. What could it hurt if he knew? “I don’t-“ she took a deep breath. “I don’t like people touching me.”

Cassian’s thoughts jumped to all the times he had touched her; during training, sometimes in sleep, countless other times when she had asked him to touch her. He had a half formed apology on his lips when she muttered, “But you’re different. Hell, I’ve woken up so many times with your arms or wings or whatever draped around me but not once did I ever tense up and stop breathing like when anybody else touches me. I could hug you whenever I like and I don’t have to build myself up to do it. Ever since Hybern-“ her breath hitched but she ploughed on. “Ever since Hybern, I can’t stand someone else touching my bare skin, or my hair, or any part of me.”

He was silent for a moment, lips pursed and crease between his brows. Nesta seriously considered leaving this and running away to never face him ever again, but as soon as she made a move to leave the room, a hand shot up and lightly grasped her wrist. “I can’t say that I know what that feels like, but I know someone who does.” Her brow lifted in question. He continued, “And he managed to learn how to control that feeling. Maybe I can help you.”

He looked up at her hopefully and she realised that he didn’t want to mock her, or abandon her over her stupid fear- he genuinely wanted to help her overcome this. She didn’t know how they would do it, or if it could even be done, but she trusted him to try his best.

 

~o0o~

 

They started out small.

Cassian would start touching her more often- a light brush of his arm against hers or a hand on her elbow when he stood next to her, even his wings started finding themselves in her way until she touched them to get them to move.

The others barely seemed to notice the gradual increasing of their touches- or they didn’t admit to it. Elain once commented that Cassian seemed to be by her side slightly more but another than that no one said a word.

Nesta found herself starting to enjoy Cassian touching her. She often leaned into him when he was close enough or just brushing her hand against his in the hopes that he would return it (he always did). Now the thought of someone else touching her didn’t seem as impossible as it had before, and she slowly grew more confident around the others- certain that she wouldn’t flinch back at a foreign hand on her shoulder or elbow.

She turned out to be wrong. It was at breakfast one morning where she slipped on a puddle of split orange juice. She didn’t land on the cold tiled floor as she expected to, instead Rhysand appeared in front of her, quickly snatching her out of her fast descent and setting her right on her feet.

She wanted to wrench her hand away in disgust. She wanted to file off the feeling of touch off her skin. She wanted to run from the room and live in isolation- where no one would stop her from falling.

“Nesta? Are you okay? You look a bit sick.” Rhysand said, his hand still clutching hers and _fuck_ , Cauldron drown her, she _felt_ a bit sick. She realised too late that she needed to throw up. But she wouldn’t make it away in time. They were all going to see her. They were going to see how broken and messed up she was and how she couldn’t even control something as simple as keeping her breakfast down simply because she had been _touched_ and-

But then Cassian- forever her savoir and the only person who seemed to know her better than herself- was taking her out of Rhysand’s grasp and into his own. Warm, familiar, _safe_.

She didn’t think that he had said anything, but his hazel eyes said it all to her; _I’m here, you’re safe, it’s my hand on yours, it’s my touch on you, settle down, sweetheart._ Her breathing evened out again, unaware that it had started to quicken at all, and the shivers and tremors of her spine relaxed. The bile rising up her throat stopped and settled back down again. She was okay. Warm, familiar, safe.

“Cass,” she said, a little quieter and less confident than she hoped it would come out. “We need to go train. Right now.”

He did a small nod, quickly leading her from the kitchen out into the flagstone garden. The brisk morning air chilled her flushed skin, breathing in deep gasps of fresh air. It was so calm, tranquil outside among bushes and trees, where there breeze drifted through the garden as a reminder that winter was soon going to make its appearance to the world. Here, no amount of anxiety or stress could follow her out. It was just nature and Cassian.

“Are you okay?” he asked, appearing in front of her with an expression of concern.

She would have been flattered that he was concerned about her but right now all she could focus on was her breathing. _In, out, in out_. She quickly nodded to his question. When she was sure that her breathing was normal and she wasn’t about to pass out or be sick in front of him, Nesta spoke. “Thank you.” She didn’t often say it- often being rare-, and when she did she made sure that she meant it.

That timeless smile appeared on his face, all cocky yet also all happy. “Wouldn’t want Rhys thinking he can sweep a girl off her feet before I could.”

She chuckled despite herself but it steadily died down to make way for a scowl. “I thought it was better.” She said quietly- hoping he would know what she was talking about.

He did, of course, and shrugged. “You didn’t have time to prepare yourself is all.”

Her scowl deepened. “Don’t make excuses for me, Cass. I should always be on high alert to avoid things like this.”

“Sweetheart, if you were always on high alert then you would never relax. And the only way to help this thing is by relaxing.” He said.

She had to concede that he had a point, but she shouldered past him before he could see that he was right. “Training. Might as well since we’re already out here.”

 

~o0o~

 

Fighting helped, she found.

It happened on a day when Cassian had some important business of Rhysand’s to see to and he was away for the day. Nesta, having only learnt of this via a note Cassian had left next to her in his cold side of the bed and, as a result, she was terribly angry. She didn’t want to skip out on training that day because she now had all these pent up frustrations that she was just eager to work out through her limbs. Azriel noticed her jumpy behaviour as soon as Mor pointed it out, and offered to take Cassian’s place as her coach. Nesta was too mad at his brother to refuse Azriel.

Fighting with him was different. His movements were more restrained, less flamboyant, but so much more predictable. Nesta didn’t know if she was good at tracking her opponent’s stance and style or if he was purposely slowing down for her (she strongly suspected the latter).

His scarred and maimed fists came down towards her, less force behind it than she was used to but she guessed probably more dangerous, but she curled away from them moments before they hit. She danced away from his punches, diving to the side to get his unguarded flank, but his foot twisted out and caught her ankle instead. She fell to the side, but quickly grabbed at his neck and pulled him down with her. She twisted and managed to hook her arms around his neck, dragging him down underneath her to break her fall. He didn’t expect it- or didn’t resist it- when she suddenly had him pinned face down on the ground, a knee between his shoulder blades and wings and her hands on his throat and back of his head. She was breathing heavily, chest heaving under the strain of keeping him there.

“Well done,” he said in that ever quiet voice of his.

It was at that moment that she noticed that she was touching him, touching him and not threatening to empty her stomach accidently. The feel of skin on hers didn’t disgust her, nor did it send shivers down her spine and leave her cold. But the more she thought this revelation, the more it soured. Suddenly, the feeling of her touching him become like touching a dead corpse- cold and enough to make her skin crawl. She jumped away from him, excusing herself to go to the bathroom, and walked away before he could stop her.

She found herself in her’s and Cassian’s joint bed, clutching tightly to a pillow and trying to calm her breathing.

It never bothered her this much before. When she was still human she would draw her hand away from other’s, but that was more out of annoyance than the repulsion it was now. Maybe it was the Cauldron’s doing; this… _weakness_. Another gift it had left to mock her.

“Nesta?”

She jumped at the voice, hand reaching for the first object she could reach.

Rhysand stood in the doorway, arms crossed and wings tight against his back. He lifted a brow at her chosen weapon of defence- Nesta’s infamous teddy bear, the red ribbon fraying at the edges. Her face twisted itself to border on snarling, a dare that he say anything about it. Wisely, he didn’t.

“Are you here for a reason?” she didn’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it did, but Nesta had never been one for surprises.

He took a step in the room, but didn’t come any closer. “I came to ask if you’re doing fine. Cassian’s out, so I volunteered myself to watch you.”

“Watch me.” She said, jaw setting. She didn’t realise that she had a body guard. It made her mad, but she couldn’t find it in herself to fight it at that moment. She was tired, and upset at this weakness of hers. “Huh.”

He looked at her for a moment, eyes contemplative. “I know what troubling you, or, I have a hunch.” His arms uncrossed, hanging loosely at his side. “I’ve been through it myself.”

Her interest piqued.

“After Under the Mountain, after Amarantha,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “I couldn’t stand another person’s touch. There was my friends, Mor, Az, Cass, Amren. Them I got used to fairly quickly, but everyone else?- I felt like puking up my guts and scrubbing off my skin. Even someone standing too near was enough to get my skin crawling.”

“How did you get over it?” Nesta asked, voice too small for her own liking.

He shrugged, a simple roll of the shoulders. “I have no idea. I found it was easier just to focus on one person and sometimes let others in. In my case, it was Feyre, and sparring lessons with Cassian and Azriel. I’d still prefer that no one touch me, but now it’s a little easier. Or imagine a person’s touch as an inanimate object. Pretend it’s the curtain brushing against your hand or your sleeve on your arm. Pretend that they don’t exist. There’s also another way; link your feelings to a positive thing.”

Her brows knitted at that.

He continued, noticing her confused expression. “Is there anyone who can touch you? Someone that doesn’t make you sick to your stomach?” Immediately her mind jumped to Cassian, and she nodded. “Good. If anyone tried to touch you, just imagine that they’re that person, that their touch is one you trust.”

She let her mind absorb all the information he had given her, fingers idly twirling the red ribbon around Timothy’s neck. In theory, the plans should work, ease her into comfort and grow used to the feelings and possibly learn to control them. In practice, however, she wasn’t sure if things that sounded so simple could really combat that uneasiness that appeared at the mere suggestion of a foreign touch.

“Do they work?” Nesta asked, voice bordering on a plea- if by some sort of fae magic he could will her fear away.

Rhysand considered it a moment, his eyes examining the top of his hand as if the answer lay between his knuckles. “I like to believe that they do.”

 

~o0o~

 

She took his advice. Gradually, of course, letting people sit an inch closer or stand less further away. She didn’t outright let people touch her, nor did she go about touching others, but it helped to know that she had a plan if there was an accidental brush of arms or hands.

Cassian returned two days later, and was immediately cornered by Rhysand and Azriel. He was only free several hours later, his face grim and mouth a thin line. Nesta didn’t where he had been or what he had done- she thought that he had already been interrogated on those questions. She had merely lifted a brow at the sight of him in the dining room and suggested that he bathe (or suggested that she had smelt horse shit more appealing than him).

By the time night rolled around and the stars cast their twinkles of light through the windows, Nesta couldn’t find it in herself to tire enough for sleep. She just felt a little more _awake_ with the confidence that she had a plan against touch. So when she finally retired to bed long after everyone else, she found Cassian deep in sleep in bed. She smiled at his form- not entirely sure why she had done so- and climbed into bed next to him.

She found herself staring at his features. The way his dark brows fell over his eyes, the lashed dusting his cheeks, lips parted to suck in air. Then his neck, much thicker than her own with a pulse twice as strong as her own. His shoulders broad, covered in those tattoos she had stared at more than once. Arms thick and muscled, corded with more than enough strength to lift her over his shoulder during training. Chest heaving in great breaths and falling up and down. His hands, scarred knuckles from sharp blades and fist fights. Then there were his wings, great mighty wings that had scared her as a mortal but she envied as an immortal.

Cassian’s touch never scared her, never brought bile to the back of her throat, never set her in icy stone from shock. She… _trusted_ his touch. And he trusted hers.

With an outstretched hand, her fingers brushed against his arm, feeling firmness beneath his tan skin. They followed a path up to his shoulder, circling his tattoos and promising that one day she would ask if she could get her own. Down to his chest her hands travelled, until she could feel his beating heart. Cassian had once said that he was a light sleeper, that every time she shifted around in bed he had woken up just to see what she was doing. But now, with her hands trailing to his neck, looping around until his hair tickled her fingers, she decided that he was a horrible liar.

He did wake up though, at the feeling of her touch along his neck, and his eyes fluttered open to gaze at her. They were unfocussed, still heavy with sleep, but so open to her that her heart skipped a beat in its rapid rhythm. She briefly wondered when she had gotten close enough to feel his breath on her face.

“Nes?” he asked, voice husky with sleep. It sounded like sin wrapped in smooth chocolate.

She didn’t know what she was thinking, or what caused her to act, but next thing she could comprehend was her lips pressed against his. It was sleepy, and it took him several moments to respond, but when he did it was like someone had stolen away her mind and replaced it with soft goo. Her hands were still around his neck, so she tugged him closer, until their bodies pressed against each other and their lips moved by an instinctual beat of a dance. His hands were on her waist, she realised, and one on her cheek. And instead of making her afraid or sick, it made her feel alive.

She didn’t know when they had moved, but he was on his back, her leaning over his chest to continue their unbroken kiss. And it was at that moment that Nesta noticed that she was _kissing_ him. A feat she would never have considered a month ago, but now once she knew she couldn’t ever live without.

Their lips parted after what felt like a second and eternity all rolled up into one, hot air dusting that other’s lips- now red and still eager for more. He gave her a smirk, weak in comparison to all his others but no less teasing. “I told you so,”

“Told me what?” she asked, eyes trained on the way his lips formed the words to his answer.

“I told you there was no reason to be nervous.”

She shut him up with another kiss.

 

~o0o~

 

It surprised the hell out of the others.

They were all gathered for breakfast, light chatter bouncing through the air, when Nesta had strolled in and gave Cassian a peck on the cheek. They had all stared wide-eyed at the simple action, but had actually choked when Cassian had caught her wrist and brought her in for a proper kiss on the lips.

 

~o0o~

 

It had happened maybe a week after that. Nesta had been reading through her latest book, curled up by a bay window and soaking up the sunlight.

She saw Mor enter, giving the other female a small nod in greeting. Mor’s eyes had locked themselves on the book in Nesta’s hand. “What are you reading?”

Nesta could see it coming, thank the Cauldron, and when Mor’s fingers brushed her own as she took the book, Nesta had pretended it was Cassian’s fingers that had brushed against hers and the usual weakness she had grown accustomed to with another person’s touch faded almost upon arrival. It was a small victory that meant the winner’s trophy to her.

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a small fluffy piece, but I accidentally added a sprinkle of angst.
> 
> Also partly inspired by my own haphephobia- the fear of someone's touch. I can't stand a stranger's touch- even just a hand touching mine- and can only really handle my best friends'. I feel like Rhys probably feels the same thing after fifty years of Amarantha.


End file.
